


Eyes of the Beholder, The

by cathyearnshaw



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-25
Updated: 2005-06-25
Packaged: 2019-04-28 03:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14440956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathyearnshaw/pseuds/cathyearnshaw
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atSpooky Awards, and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address onSpookyAwards' collection profile.





	Eyes of the Beholder, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

Title: The Eyes of the Beholder  
Author: Catherine Earnshaw  
Classification: vignette, challenge fic, Scully POV 

Spoilers: Detour, bits and pieces of season six 

Archive: I'll take care of Gossamer and Ephemeral. Anywhere else, please let me know. 

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and the X-Files belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. But they'd be nothing without David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. I mean no copyright infringement with my story; I just love them too much to let go of them. The rating of "PG" is trademarked by the MPAA. 

Written for Fandomonium's Voyeurism Challenge. Elements listed at the end. 

http://www.cybillxfilesopus.com/catherineearnshaw/home.htm 

* * *

"I remember watching the boy I secretly liked walk past my grandparents' house, and wondering why the other kids needed to take drugs." 

Ellin Anderson 

* * *

The Eyes of the Beholder 

They say beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. 

It might be true. In Mulder's case, however, I don't think it applies. Anyone who looks at him certainly sees what I see, unless their sense of aesthetics is seriously twisted. 

My partner is beautiful. I don't want to sound maudlin, but he really is, and the beauty of his soul outdoes his looks, impossible as it might seem. Right now, sitting in front of our boss as Mulder explains to him how he could wreck two rental cars and destroy a brand new laptop while investigating a voodoo-induced possession case in Louisiana, all I can do is bask in his presence. I can't stare at him openly as I do on occasion -- at a crime scene as he examines a piece of evidence, his eyes intent, his mind already putting the pieces of the puzzle together, or while he is driving, focused on the road as he munches on sunflower seeds and annoys the hell out of me changing the radio station every two minutes until he finds something he likes. Then he hums, completely off-key, to Elvis or the Rolling Stones, and I pretend to be asleep, but the truth is I'm enjoying myself immensely. 

I know he knows I watch him, as I'm sure he knows I know he watches me. It's a game we play, something like a tug of war, and I wonder who's gonna let the rope go first. 

But I digress. 

Skinner is saying something I'm sure I've heard from him before, and I do my best to look interested. Mulder senses my mind is wandering, and throws me a sideways glance which makes matters even worse. He's wearing those killer glasses, and I can't help hoping he'll develop a permanent allergy to his contact lenses so I can see him like this more often. I wish he hadn't had that criminal haircut after Antarctica. I loved the way he'd brush that stubborn lock off his forehead from time to time and I often wanted to do that myself. I have to confess, though, that I find this new look quite endearing. It's as if he tried to cut his hair himself, did an awful job of it, then had to go for broke at the barber's shop. 

Mulder raises his voice, and I blink. He's leaning forward in his seat, trying to get Skinner to see the validity of the case, and our boss shakes his head, visibly irritated. They're locking horns again as I watch. Whoever says Mulder's voice is a monotone must be out of their mind. He pours his soul into his voice the same way you can see it in those amazing eyes of his. Mulder is an open book; he wears his heart on his sleeve, and if you just listen to him for five minutes, you'll know what I mean. 

Be open to extreme possibilities, I warn you. 

Skinner keeps rambling, using words like reckless and foolhardy to describe my partner. I look at Mulder, who takes everything in stride. I told him once I admired his relentlessness, and I wonder if I'm the only one who can see him for what he really is. The Bureau sees him as a loose cannon, I regard him as a man with a mission. Mulder makes an abrupt move, and his jacket, which he'd draped on the back of the chair, slips to the floor. He doesn't take notice. It might look like carelessness to others, but I know him. This is something that comes from birth. He doesn't care about the puddle of expensive Armani on the floor because he has always taken it for granted. Of course other agents see his designer's suits and expensive watches as signs of arrogance. They haven't been to his almost Spartan apartment, nor do they know about the countless nights he has spent at my bedside, sprawled on a hard hospital chair. He doesn't care for his own comfort. The way he carries himself is just the way he was taught to be. 

Even his chivalry, which irked me a bit at the very beginning - his way of opening doors and guiding me through them, of giving me the best motel room, of making sure I have coffee ready in the morning. Soon I realized he was not patronizing me. Just treating me right, in his weird old-fashioned view. 

Mulder's fingertips tap against the armrest, a clear sign of his frustration. His hands are never idle. I often raise my head from my work to see him twisting a pencil between his fingers, playing with a clip, shredding a Styrofoam cup. Such beautiful hands. They've been the stars of more than one midnight fantasy for me. If I'm honest with myself I have to admit they're also a somewhat painful reminder of what I'm missing. 

My reverie is interrupted by a torrent of harsh words. 

"I hope I won't have to see you two here in the near future, Agents. Now get those reports straightened up and send them over to Kim asap, or I'll make sure the basement serves its storage purpose. Dismissed," barked Skinner. I know better than to say anything, so I gather our papers from the desk, nod my agreement and stand up, touching Mulder's sleeve. 

Just to reassure him. Or myself. 

Mulder gets up with a relieved sigh, leans down to get his jacket and stopsat the door when he realizes I'm still standing by our boss's desk, staring at him. He looks puzzled. "Scully? You coming?" 

I don't answer. I cross the room and walk through the door, his hand automatically taking its usual place on the small of my back. I smile as he mumbles something like "stupid paperwork" and jabs his thumb onto the elevator button. 

Once in the office, he drops himself heavily into his chair and I wonder for the thousandth time how in the hell he manages not to flip the damned thing over. His feet move to the top of the desk and he grabs a pencil from the blotter, absently munching on it as he turns his computer on and waits for the machine to work. 

I realize I'm still standing at the door, holding a stack of papers and ogling my unsuspecting partner. He doesn't seem to have noticed my scrutiny, so I send my guardian angel a quick thank you. Just as I'm getting ready to busy myself with the paper-mess Mulder has done in lieu of paperwork, he loosens his tie, throws his reading glasses at the desk, stands up and looks at me. 

"I'm going for a walk. Join me?" 

He doesn't wait for an answer and bolts out the door, leaving the computer on and not caring a bit. I shake my head and follow, and as I get to the corridor he's already holding the elevator door open. I enter, raise my eyebrow at him, and he leans against the back wall, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. He looks tired. 

We walk out of the Hoover towards the reflective pool and I know where he's heading to. Our bench, the one which still stands as a symbol of our unwavering loyalty to each other. I don't miss the silent message he's sending me, and as we sit facing the water, he leans forward, elbows on knees, squinting his eyes against the hot afternoon sun. I watch the play of his back muscles under his shirt, fight an urge to touch him, and lose. My hand lands softly on his shoulder, and he understands, moving his hand to my knee and squeezing it. 

Stonecypher and Kinsley might be experts in communication, but I bet we could teach them a trick or two. 

Mulder's gazing at the dirty water, his mind churning. An elegantly dressed woman passes by -- a lawyer or a government clerk, I muse -- and gives my partner the once-over. She looks at me, the corners of her lips move up a bit, and I nod almost imperceptibly at her. Lady, this one is taken, but I won't hold it against you if you look. Mulder misses the whole exchange, lost in thought. 

I know, and he knows, it's inevitable. We're moving towards each other and we couldn'tstop it if we wanted to. The pace is slow, and although there are times when I justwant to grab him by the collar and crush my mouth against his, I wait. Our time will come, and then I'll be able to look at my heart's content. 

Now, as he stands up and holds his hand out to me, I just take it without hesitation. I don't care if anyone sees. The imp which resides deep inside my soul smiles at the thought that one of the secretaries will observe indeed, and we'll be the main subject in the ladies' room tomorrow. 

I smile. Mulder notices, and he smiles back. It's one of those moments -- we've just been scolded by our boss, we have a mountain of paperwork to go through, we've just gotten the X-Files back and there are people who want nothing but to take them away from us, but all it matters to me now is my partner's hand holding mine and the green sparkle of his eyes as he looks at me. 

And if beauty truly lies in the eyes of the beholder, I am the most beautiful woman alive. 

The end 

* * *

Author's notes: 

  * This is my first attempt at first person POV. Cut me some slack :) 
  * Mulder in glasses is a special treat for my beta-Godmother, Mimic117. Mimsy dear, I hope I did him justice. 



The elements for this story were: 

-Scully or Other POV (i.e. Scully/other as the voyeur) -Can have Mulder doing anything (eating seeds, reading over a casefile, changing clothes, mowing the lawn, washing dishes, surfing the net, pumping gas etc. etc.) -Pure description (i.e. little or no dialogue) -It must be a new fic

#### If you enjoyed this story, please feed the author.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title: **Eyes of the Beholder, The**  
Author: Catherine Earnshaw  
Details: 9k  ·  PG  ·  Standalone  ·  06/25/05  ·   Email/Website      
Gossamer Category(Keywords): Vignette   [UST]     
Pairings: Mulder/Scully UST 


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